maybe we could have tried harder,
tried harder to hang on,
to each other, to us;
fix the worries instead of
seeing them as indestructible cracks
through which seething magma would rise
in the form of misery, anger, regret.
maybe we should have just accepted them
as part of the beautiful thing that we are -
that we were, anyway.
maybe flowers would have grown through them instead,
we might have bloomed stronger than ever,
with the resilience of bulbs that sprout graceful petals every year,
even after the harsh isolation of winter.
perhaps in my own, broken way that was what I was trying to do,
on that day when tears fell like hailstorms,
agonising as we felt them batter our heads.
instead of resisting the potency of winds,
or huddling together until the puddles cleared
(we might have even danced gloriously
in the water, relishing the heightened sensations
of saturation)
we allowed the world to sob all over us,
standing stiffly under the downpour
until we were soaked to the heart
and our love drowned,
it couldn't even float to the surface.
I think about it, discarded at the bottom
of an endless sea of wasted possibilities
and know I'll be dragged down too,
if I ever seek it again
you didn't resist at all,
hell, you made it worse,
making me say what I didn't want to say,
at least not then, like that,
where you couldn't see my heart shivering into decay,
through a glossy sheen of rain over my eyes.
I think that's when I realised I couldn't return.
I was a rusting cart shooting down a splintered track,
and I'd lost my hold on the handle.
spinning wildly out of control, we
crashed off the edge into the abyss of doubt
and it overwhelmed us.
upon reflection, I wonder if i would have changed my mind if you showed me that you didn't want it,
sometimes tears can be accepting an end, not denial,
and yours were out of knowing it was the end,
and mine were from wishing it wasn't.
15/10/19
